


Neither Lender Nor Borrower Be

by ClareGuilty



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Good Good Times for Good Good Kids, softest boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:07:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClareGuilty/pseuds/ClareGuilty
Summary: You manage to find the new camp at Clemens Point after a job at Emerald Ranch. Unfortunately, all of your clothes have been lost, and you're forced to wear Charles' and Javier's things for a while.The softest, sweetest boys take care of you for a little while. Pure domestic fluff.
Relationships: Charles Smith & Reader, Charles Smith/Reader, Javier Escuella & Reader, Javier Escuella/Charles Smith, Javier Escuella/Charles Smith/Reader, Javier Escuella/Reader
Comments: 8
Kudos: 151





	Neither Lender Nor Borrower Be

**Author's Note:**

> My sister helped title this fic.
> 
> I went into this fully intending to write Charles/reader smut, but Reader is an idiot who can't take a hint and so things were just unbearably soft instead.

"I know, old girl," you patted your horse reassuringly as she let out a worried snort. "We'll find them soon."

The sun was sinking over the Grizzlies, and Flat Iron Lake was turning from purple to inky black as you carefully made your way along the shore.

You knew how important it was that camp remained well hidden, but you had hoped that you would at least be able to find the gang with nothing but Mary-Beth's letter to go off of.

_Dearest Cousin,_

_The weather is growing too hot here now that spring is in full bloom, so we've decided to move somewhere cooler. Your uncle has found a great place for us to pass the season right on the shore of Flat Iron Lake, not too far from Rhodes. Just head East from town. Come visit us as soon as you get the chance, the whole family can't wait to see you again. I hope this letter finds you well._

_Warm regards,_   
_Leslie Dupont_

_P.S. We passed through Valentine. It is a disgusting and rotten town, and the sheriff is very unhelpful._

The girl was clever. She had sent you the location of the new hideout without giving away anything else about the gang in case the letter fell into the wrong hands. You had guessed that the law had caught up with them around Valentine, and that the sheriff was on the lookout for any trouble. You had no need to go back there anyways. The past few weeks, you had been working a job at Emerald Ranch. 

It was your first real job. Your first time being out on your own since you joined the gang. The freedom and independence meant a lot to you, not to mention the fact that Dutch trusted you enough to send you out on your own. You were tired of feeling like dead weight, and this was your chance to prove yourself. Hosea had set everything up for you, and you had gone undercover as a ranch hand for nearly a month as you gathered information and put all the pieces in place that allowed you to steal away in the dead of night with $800 and a satchel full of valuables.

But that $800 dollars would never make it into Dutch’s hands if you couldn’t find the goddamned camp. It was getting dark, and that wouldn’t help you any.

Or would it?

As the sun disappeared behind the mountains, you noticed a flicker of light through the trees. That fire had better belong to the gang.

You picked your way through the thinning trees, stumbling upon a pack of familiar horses.

“Oh, thank god,” you hitched your old girl and stripped her of as much tack as possible before striding determinedly towards a familiar white tent.

Arthur looked up from his journal as you passed his cot. “You’re back!” he grinned, pushing to his feet to follow after you. “Did you get on alright?”

“Yeah. Everything was fine for once.” You made your way to where Dutch was sitting. A few other gang members had noticed your arrival and were heading over to meet you.

Dutch greeted you with open arms and a boisterous cheer. “How great it is to see you,” he pulled you in for a chaste embrace. 

You pushed your stuffed satchel into his arms. His grin widened as he hefted it, feeling the sheer weight of your score. He shot you a look of pure admiration. “You’re always so good for me.”

You flushed and smiled. Dutch was kind, and he cared for you. It felt good to be home.

A hand closed over your shoulder and you turned to see Hosea smiling just as wide. "Thanks for setting up that job for me," you clasped your hand over his.

"I should be thanking you for bringing my ideas to glorious fruition," the older man grinned. "You did good."

It was the warmest welcome you could imagine. A celebration was quickly under way, rejoicing at your return as well as the money you brought with you.

"You must be tired," Susan flitted over, "let me show you where we've got you set up." She led you to a spot by the fire. Your bedroll was laid out among the others, but that was all you could see.

"Where's my trunk?" You asked, unstrapping your gear and setting it neatly nearby.

Susan's brow creased. "It should be right over here. I had them unload all of your stuff already."

You circled the tent. Swanson's, Charles', and Javier's trunks were all neatly lined up, but no sign of yours. "It's not here." 

"I'll have Bill double check the wagons. He was the one responsible for picking up your things." She strode off, and you wanted to feel sorry for poor Bill. Susan was a force to be reckoned with. But you couldn't muster up any sympathy at the moment; you wanted your trunk.

The sharp cadence of Susan's voice could be heard as you grabbed a beer and settled in by the fire. Uncle had pulled out his banjo, and Pearson was on the accordion, leading Sean and Lenny in a drunken and out of tune rendition of some old navy song.

You watched as Bill lumbered over to the wagons, peering in each one. He grew more and more frustrated as you watched him. At last, he threw his hands up and returned to where Susan and Dutch were sitting. You made your way over there as well.

"-must have gotten lost somewhere along the way," Bill was saying. "I swear I loaded everything up."

"Where's my trunk," you demanded.

The three of them turned to you. None of their expressions showed any promise.

Bill was the first to own up. "I promise you I packed it before we left Horseshoe Overlook. I don't know what happened, but I can't find it."

"My clothes are in there. My things are in there."

"I know," Dutch attempted to placate you. "We'll keep looking for it. I'm sure your things will turn up."

"I want my clothes," you were growing angry now. You had more than just your clothes in that trunk: a bottle of nice brandy, a bag of coins, and some jewelry you had stolen from some asshat in Strawberry, but Dutch didn't need to know about any of that. You had worked your ass off for weeks only to come back and find all of your things were missing. Not to mention you had to leave your spare shirts behind at Emerald Ranch to make room for everything you had stolen.

"We'll find them," Dutch raised his hand, "and if not, I'll set aside some of your most recent score so you can replace what you lost."

You took a step forward, glancing wildly between the three of them. "I just rode all the way from Emerald goddamn Ranch, stumbling through the woods to find this place. All I want is a clean shirt and a night of rest, but what do I find? My things are gone."

You could hear the camp fall silent around you, watching your outburst as you jabbed a finger into Bill's broad chest.

Heavy footsteps approached from behind you and large, warm hands closed around your shoulders, pulling you back a respectable distance. "Easy, Little Bear," Charles was grinning; you could hear it in his voice. "Let's wash what you've got on and hang it to dry overnight. You can borrow some of my clothes in the meantime."

You acquiesced, knowing it was useless to try and argue with Charles. He was more level-headed than you and always so damn reasonable. He steered you away from Dutch and Bill, towards the shore of the lake where the water lapped gently against the muddy bank.

"Your clothes will be too big on me," you complained. Charles was easily twice your size.

"Yes, but they'll be clean." He pointed a warning finger at you, a silent command to stay still while he went to grab something for you to change into.

You sulked and stared out over the water, watching stray boats drift across the horizon. Charles returned, a bundle of familiar fabric draped over his arm. You recognized his blue button down.

"Wash up and get changed. I'll help you wash your things." He handed you the clothes.

The polite thing to do would have been to turn him down; you could wash your own clothes. Instead you stepped behind the wagon, stripped out of your things, and tossed them in the general direction of Charles. He didn't say anything, but you heard his footsteps retreating towards the wash basin.

You waded into the lake. The water was still warm in the shallows, heated from the afternoon sun. The mud was soft and cool beneath your bare feet, squishing between your toes until it dropped off into cold darkness. You swam out a few yards, scrubbing through your hair as best you could and trying to rub all of the Heartlands' dust from your skin.

The quiet of the lake was soothing, and you floated in the water until your fingers wrinkled and pruned. Finally, you waded to shore, drying off with a spare cloth before pulling on the clothes Charles lent you.

He was right; they were clean, and soft, and they smelled good. Charles must have stored herbs with his things because everything smelled like oregano and mint and thyme and leather.

They were also far too large on you. You rolled the sleeves up as far as you could and resorted to simply tying the bottom hem at your hips to keep the shirt from reaching to your knees. You rolled the pants to your ankles, working your belt through the loops with only a little difficulty.

You spotted Charles hanging your things out to dry. He looked you up and down as you approached.

"I look ridiculous," you groaned, helping him pin your trousers to the line. He made a soft sound, but didn't say anything.

"Thanks for loaning me some clothes," you placed a hand on his arm as the two of you walked back towards the fire.

"It's nothing," Charles shrugged. He passed you a beer and steered you towards the fire where Sean was giving a slurred, impassioned speech about what you assumed to be the beauty of a woman's breasts. You took your seat, waving off any comment about the fact that you were drowning in Charles' clothes.

The party continued on even as you laid down for the night. The younger men carried on and on without any care, much to everyone else's annoyance as things refused to quiet down.

Just as you fell asleep, you thought you heard the distant rumble of thunder, but that might have just been Uncle snoring.

It was thunder.

You woke to a sheet of rain coming out of nowhere, jolting you awake as well as Javier next to you. Thunder rang out over the water and the wind began to pick up more quickly than you could understand.

Javier cursed and began grabbing anything he didn't want to get soaked, dashing for the nearest wagon. A flash of lightning broke you out of your stupor and you jumped to your feet.

"My clothes," you whined. You ran to the line where Charles had hung them, but it was empty. The wind had taken everything. Not even the pins remained. "Aw, shit," you cursed, stomping in the mud.

Camp was in a state of chaos behind you. No one had anticipated the rain and people were running left and right to try and keep the storm from causing too much damage. The girls were all huddled in John's tent, sheltering Jack as best they could. Hosea and Lenny were trying to keep the ammunition dry, pulling a waxed tarp over the crates. It was a surprise the gang had dealt with many times before. Rain was nothing but an inconvenience.

Charles found you staring wistfully at the empty clothesline. 

"They're gone," you said lamely.

"I'm sorry. I should have seen the storm coming," he tried to pull you at least under the bough of the tree so you weren't standing under the downpour.

"It's not your fault." You shook your head.

"Come on," he tried again to usher you towards some shelter, "there's no need to stand out in the storm." You followed along begrudgingly, settling in across from Javier in one of the covered wagons.

The storm passed, and everything was mostly dry by the next evening. You were now stuck in Charles' clothes indefinitely. Sean and John wasted no time in teasing you. You looked ridiculous.

"Please, Dutch," you begged, "just let me go into town and buy some clothes. I'll head straight to the general store and nowhere else."

"I'm sorry," he shook his head. "Our presence, or lack thereof, in this town is of the utmost importance. We have an in with this Sheriff Gray and his family, and I'm not going to risk it for anything."

You stormed off, throwing your hands up in disbelief. Sadie shot you a look that could only be described as commiserating. She was in the same boat as you, forced to remain in camp until someone decided to escort her to town.

Javier waved you over before you could get too far. He must have sensed your plan to steal away into town without anyone noticing, because he forced you to go out fishing with him on the lake.

You let him row the boat out onto the water, too petulant to even take your rod out for the first 20 minutes. Javier was unfazed. He baited his hook and cast his line like you weren't even there.

You eventually gave in and cast your line beside his, bringing in a few small bluegill while Javier managed to hook a bass. "Not bad," he clapped you on the back. "Much better than Arthur."

The compliment made you feel better, and you offered to row back to shore.

Charles was waiting for your return. He took the bass from Javier and told you to give the bluegill to Pearson.

"This can be our dinner tonight," Javier grinned. "We catch it, he cooks it."

You had no objections to that, following the two of them over to one of the smaller fires where Charles immediately set to work preparing the fish.

"You know," Javier spoke up, "you can borrow some of my clothes if you need to. They'd probably fit better, and we all know I'm the best dressed one around here."

Charles didn't appear to take any offense to the suggestion, so you grinned at Javier. "Thanks for the offer. I can't believe Dutch won't even let me go into town."

The three of you shared a meal of fish and mushrooms. Javier and Charles were easy to be around, and they never hesitated to put another serving on your plate. You envied the easy familiarity between them, the soft touches and gentle smiles they exchanged. They had a bond stronger than any men you had known before, and you enjoyed this invitation into their comfort and intimacy.

Another sunrise, another day of Dutch refusing to let you go into town. Fed up with his nonsense, you wandered over to where the O'Driscoll boy was resting among the horses.

He was eager to help, especially since he didn't know you were going against Dutch's orders. He helped you saddle up one of the Morgan horses, cooing to the beast as you mounted up and slipped quietly into the forest.

You pushed north until you broke the treeline, and then turned west towards the road. It was a straight shot to Rhodes from there. Sure, you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes but you weren't going to let that stop you. You could change once you got to the general store and then everything would be right as rain.

Except you didn't even make it to the general store. You were hardly at the edge of the farmlands before the thunder of hooves sounded behind you. Your pistol was in your hand before you had even turned.

Charles and Javier were gaining on you, and this borrowed Morgan would never be able to outrun them. You let out a groan of frustration, rearing to a stop and giving up before the men had even reached you.

They overtook you on either side. Charles scooped you up in one arm and deposited you onto Taima in front of him. Javier rounded up the poor horse you had borrowed from the O'Driscoll and began leading it back to camp.

"Little Bear, what were you thinking?" Charles was scolding you. "You're in Dutch's good graces after that job at Emerald Ranch, would you really want to ruin that by defying him?" You slumped forward. Charles threw an arm around your chest to keep you upright. "I don't understand why you can't just be patient. Javier and I can look out for you until Dutch says it's okay to go into town." He was right, but you certainly weren't satisfied with it.

You let them sneak you back into camp. For the rest of the night, neither one let you out of their sight. Whenever you strayed too far from the gang, Javier was there, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms.

Even more embarrassing, Charles moved his bedroll to be on the other side of you. You were trapped between him and Javier with no way of sneaking out in the night. Despite your frustration, you felt safe between them. 

The days wore on with no chance of going into Rhodes. Javier took great pleasure in dressing you up, forcing a multitude of accessories on you and laughing to himself as he made you look 'proper.'

Arthur and John stood by with amused smiles on their faces, snickering every so often. You glared at them, but you doubt the expression carried any weight when you looked like a goddamned fool.

"They're just jealous that they can't look this good," Javier scoffed. "Let me comb out your hair."

If you thought you looked ridiculous in Charles' oversized clothes, you felt like a clown in Javier's. Sean and Uncle began to lay into you instantly, and you quickly grew too irritated to be around them.

The girls were the only ones who had anything nice to say about how you were dressed, but they turned all of their compliments to Javier and his impeccable sense of style. You were nothing more than a pretty doll for them to look at.

"You look fine," Charles assured you. "Javier’s look suits you. Maybe you should consider adding a waistcoat to your new wardrobe."

You rolled your eyes at the suggestion, but he didn't miss the way your hands smoothed over the fabric. You were considering it.

Javier followed you around constantly, showering you with praise that was really just him complimenting his own work.

"If you don't cut it out I'm going to take this off right now and throw it in the lake," you turned on him. 

"But then what will you wear?" Javier countered.

"I'll borrow something of Arthur's," you waved a hand to where the older outlaw was scribbling in his journal.

"Huh? Me? Why can't you wear John's stuff?" Arthur immediately shot you down.

"Because none of Marston's stuff is ever clean," you said. Arthur and Javier both nodded in agreement at that. Marston was always filthy, and his clothes were worn and threadbare. 

Remembering the true source of your anger, you turned towards Dutch's tent, fury in your eyes. None of this would be an issue if the bastard would just let you go into town. Javier quickly stepped in front of you, seeing how poorly this could end.

"Hey, hey -- easy, _Osito_ ," he backed you up a few steps, "just wear my stuff for a few days. I promise we'll get you something soon."

Ignoring Javier, you took a step toward Dutch’s tent. His arms locked around your chest and shoulders and he began dragging you away. “ _Dios mio,_ ” he muttered under his breath, “ _Te amo, pero puedes ser mucho._ ”

You had no clue what he was saying, but you didn’t care unless he was taking you into Rhodes. Javier dragged you up the hill, past the horses and into the trees. You didn’t fight him, but you certainly didn’t make it easy on him. He dropped you in the leaves once you were you of sight of camp.

“What’s your problem, huh?” he demanded. “Dutch gives you one order -- _una orden_ \-- and you have to fight him at every turn? He has a job lined up for us. You can’t jeopardize that. Why can’t you just wait until he gives you permission to go into town?”

Javier’s scolding made your blood boil. You pushed to your knees, staring up at him. “He’s being ridiculous. Even you have to see that. I’ve lost everything. I hate being so dependent on everyone for everything all the time, and now I don’t even own the clothes off my back. I just want to have something of my own again.”

Javier opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the approach of someone else. You both turned to see Charles; he had probably heard everything. He walked straight towards you, helping you to your feet. You glanced between him and Javier. 

“I understand you’re upset,” Charles spoke first. “You lost more than just your clothes in that trunk. Was there anything important?”

You looked to your boots. Charles wouldn’t tell Dutch that you were hiding money from him, but you weren’t as sure about Javier. Sighing, you spoke up. “A bottle of brandy -- the good stuff. Some jewelry I had stolen. A, uh, a bag of coins. Those don’t really matter thought, they can all be replaced. There were some letters from my mother -- heirlooms and things too. I can’t get those back.” You kicked at the underbrush. 

“I’m sorry,” Charles smoothed a hand over your hair. 

“Sorry won’t bring them back,” you hated that you couldn’t stop fighting. You didn’t want to argue.

“Can you do something for me, Little Bear?” Charles gently nudged your chin with his thumb and you looked up at him. Against your instincts, you nodded. As much as you wanted to take care of things yourself, it would be better to trust Charles. “Can you wait three more days?”

You frowned and turned to Javier, eyes pleading. He just shrugged and shook his head. This was between you and Charles.

“Three days,” you agreed. “After that, I’m doing things my way.”

Charles nodded. 

The next morning, he was gone. You searched all over camp, but you knew he was nowhere to be found; Taima was missing as well. Several other horses were missing as well, The Count and Silver Dollar were nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Charles?” you asked Arthur.

“No clue. He left before I woke up this morning. Must be riding out pretty far, I reckon.”

You were tempted to break your promise. Who knew when Charles would be back? Three days was nothing. He likely wouldn't be back until next week. No one would notice or care if you left camp now.

Except Javier. Loyal Javier, who had watched you give your word to Charles. Javier, who was letting you borrow his clothes. You couldn’t do that to him.

So you dug in and did your chores, helped cook and clean and sew, always one ear to the ground for any word from Dutch or Charles. Damn that van der Linde and all his planning. You just wanted to be reckless for once, to run in without thinking. What did it matter, all these Grays and Braithewaites?

Night fell on the third day, and you slumped into the seat next to Javier. He threw an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side. “Don’t worry,” he grinned. “Things will start looking up again soon.”

“Whatever,” you sighed, but Javier made a satisfied sound next to you. You narrowed your eyes and pointed a finger at his chest, “You know something, don’t you?”

“Who? Me?” Javier laughed, “I am not in the habit of knowing things.”

You knew you would never get a straight answer out of him, so you leaned into his side and watched the flames lick up towards the sky. You dozed off without meaning to, unsure if you imagined the feeling of Javier’s lips brushing against your forehead.

The sound of an approaching horse woke you. Someone had returned to camp.

Taima’s white flank shone in the moonlight and you raced to meet Charles as he dismounted. He scooped you into his arms, spinning you around before setting you on your feet. You couldn’t help but match his wide smile.

“I’ve brought you something,” he retrieved a rather bulky parcel from his saddlebags. “Let’s move closer to the fire.”

You tore open the twine and paper, running your fingers over the soft fabric inside. “You didn’t…” you held up the shirt in the firelight. It was nicer than anything you had owned before, and it must have cost a fortune.

“I spoke to Dutch, and he agreed to let me ride to the tailor’s in Saint Denis. You should thank him when you get the chance.”

You didn’t think Dutch deserved any thanks for all his ridiculous impositions, but you threw your arms around Charles’ neck. It was one of the kindest things anyone had ever done for you.

“There’s more,” he turned you back to the parcel. “I’m sure Javier wants to see them as well.”

You held up each item, letting both men feel the fabrics and admire the craftsmanship. There were shirts, trousers, a jacket, and even a tie. When you reached the last item, you let out a bark of laughter. It was a waistcoat, not unlike the one Javier had leant you.

“ _Muy hermoso,_ ” he nodded in approval. “You’ll look almost as good as me.”

You rewrapped the items and tucked them next to your bedroll.

“You don’t want to change right now?” Charles raised an eyebrow. You were in his shirt and Javier’s pants. They were comfortable and worn.

“It can wait until tomorrow,” you shrugged. "Thank you… for taking care of me," you stared at the bottle in your hands. "I know I've been difficult to handle."

"You would do the same for us," Charles smoothed a hand over your hair.

"There's one more thing," Javier shot you a coyote grin. He reached into his own pack and pulled out a bottle. The firelight caught in the glass and glowed amber. "The good stuff," he passed it to you. It was brandy, nicer than the bottle you had lost.

You hugged him tight, uncapping the bottle and taking a drink before offering it to Javier. He drank and passed the bottle to Charles. It was some of the smoothest, sweetest liquor you had tasted.

**Author's Note:**

> Come hang out with me on [Twitter](twitter.com/clare_guilty)
> 
> Check out my other fics on my [Tumblr](tumblr.com/clareguilty)
> 
> Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! <3


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